


Last Shot

by BurningTea



Category: Leverage
Genre: Also I know he doesn't like guns, First thing I've written for Leverage and apparently I feel feelings about Eliot, just let me have this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot knows he's not going to be found this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Be nice. First thing I've written for Leverage. I'm still in the early stages of reading everything I find. Send me fic recs if you've got them.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr. I'm [humanformdragon](http://humanformdragon.tumblr.com/).

The last shot Eliot ever fires isn’t meant to be the last. It’s meant to get the mark to reconsider, to take up Hardison’s offer, and it’s meant to be over and done with in time to get that casserole made that Parker likes. 

It doesn’t quite go to plan. 

The wound’s gone numb by the time he realizes they aren’t coming for him, that they can’t find him. It has to be that they can’t find him, because it might have taken him years to trust it fully, but he does trust it now: if Hardison or Parker can find him, they’ll come for him. Every time. 

So they can’t find him. And he can’t stand. Fuck, he can barely move. 

The bare boards of the upper floor he’s on press against his back, and he stares up, his head tilted slightly back and one hand lying on his own chest. He knows it’s there, but he can’t feel it anymore. 

He can see the stars. They’re visible through a crack in the ceiling. Not quite a crack. More a gaping hole, large enough for a man to fit through. He should know. He fell through it.

He wasn’t supposed to be on that side of the building, and he wasn’t supposed to be wedged between these crates, and there’s no way, with his tech fried and with everything that went down, he’s got any hope they’ll find him now. 

It’s a shame. He’d rather have died with someone near, even if he doesn’t like the thought of either Hardison or Parker seeing him go, just because it would upset them. Some hazy part of his brain thinks it might be better, for them, like this. Maybe they’ll just think he left, that he finally got tired of them and their energy and went off to find another crew.

He can just about make himself believe that, if only because the image of Parker’s tears is too much, if only because the way Hardison will crumble is too clear. He wonders what they’ll say to Sophie, to Nate. He spoke at Sophie’s funeral. It’s only fair she speaks at his, even if he won’t get to see it.

He finds he doesn’t like the thought of her tears, either. 

Nate will drink. Eliot thinks he’s earned that, despite not wanting to be the cause of it. 

There won’t be anyone to cook for them at the wake. 

Sentimentality isn’t him, and he wants to growl, to snap and gripe and scowl, but he hasn’t the energy left for that. He stopped being cold some time ago, and he knows that’s bad. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been close to death, but whatever the others might think of him, he’s always had a strong survival instinct, and he’s been ruthless enough to listen to it. 

He knew caring would get him dead. 

There’s a splinter digging into the meat of his right hand, the one that’s on the ground. He can’t feel much of anything, but he feels that splinter, splitting his skin. It’s always the small things that get through to him: Parker’s smile; the light in her eyes when she finds something interesting; Hardison’s joy at his geeky crap; the way they both lean into him in their own ways. The way they need him. 

A soldier needs a cause, someone’s right to fight for, and he signed up a long while back to fight for their right to be safe. It bothers him he won’t be able to do it any more.

There used to be five of them, and he doesn’t begrudge Nate and Sophie leaving, heading off to find their own little bit of happiness, but it put them down to three. Still stable, as far as the three of them can ever be stable, but smaller. More contained. Not less. Just different.

Shifting down to two might be harder to handle. 

Parker and Hardison love each other, he knows they do, but they’ve never had to navigate their relationship with it just being the two of them. He’s always been there, always been able to provide extra ballast. Sure, they’ve been on vacation without him, but that’s not the same. He’s been around to come back to. 

It’s not a question of love. It’s a question of dynamics. Of pressure points. 

It was supposed to be the three of them. Together. 

Now he’s bleeding out on a floor, alone, and they’re going to go home to a half-cooked casserole he’ll never get to finish.


End file.
